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overnowsfcb · 5 months

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halfway out the door; fermín lópez

summary: fighting to keep a little flame alive underwater, you couldn't lose the only stable thing in your life

warnings: ANGST!!! (no good ending) mature language, mental health issues (panic attack, anxiety, emotional distress), relationship struggles, unhealthy dinamics, brief mention of smut themes. if any of these topics makes you uncomfortable, i advise against reading this story.

word count: 3,3k

note: hiii! it's me again, this time posting for my sweet boy (who is not as sweet in this story) fermín. im planning to do something with all the 1989 vault tracks x barça players. so take it as the first from the series!! also, apologies if the angst hits hard, promise to post fluff next time (its a bit of challenge for me haha) super excited about this and would love to hear your thoughts or suggestions! – venus 🫂💐🫧 p.s.: im so proud of this one tbh

He didn’t seem to have enough time for you anymore. You didn’t want to see the subtle twist, but you knew him all too well and an imperceptible change for everyone was an imposing earthquake in your world.

It was in the hours that your messages would be waiting for a response and the way he wasn’t starved to taste your lips anymore. Once, he’d find an excuse to be with you, even if only for brief minutes. He’d dash to your apartment bearing your favorite chocolate with the pretext of keeping you fed. A smile brightening and your stomach still produced the same fluttering butterflies, as the first time he kissed you underneath the moonlight at fourteen.

Back then, everything was perfect, the chill air in your faces as you ran with sand getting between your toes, you could still feel his timid hands and tender touch on your waist as you both shared a breathtaking kiss.

Your mother's words echoed - relationships don't last forever. You'd always dismissed her musings, attributing them to the bitterness stemming from your father's departure. But now, that thought held a glimmer of truth.

He was your soulmate, your solid backbone, he would hold the candles for you even if his arm grew weary, drawing strength from unimaginable places. Unseen pictures would fill his phone, capturing your candid moments, proudly setting you as his lock screen. One cherished memory stood out: a photo of you, pajama-clad, returning from a late-night ice cream run, a victorious smile on your face. You had lost a bet that day, darting to the store at 1 AM, just a street away from your building.

However, now everything appeared to be falling apart; the last picture in his gallery folder, titled 'I love, mine, mine, mine,' dated back to July, and it was already November. It contrasted the warmth of July with the chilling absence of recent affection.

Yearning for something to blame, tears seemed futile as memories replayed relentlessly, etched deep within your heart. Each sob felt like a painful reminder of the emptiness in the cold, desolate bed without him by your side. Staring at it blankly, your mind echoed the silent void, your chest tightening with every expelled breath.

Sleeping alone always felt unbearable. You reached for your phone, gazing at the lock screen displaying a snapshot of both of you in a summer pool. His outings with friends never bothered you; you accepted that he was now part of Barcelona's first team, and you weren't his priority. However, deep down, a simple goodnight message like "Sweet dreams, Pip, I love you" was all you silently longed for. Was it too much to ask from someone who claimed to love you?

The absence weighed heavily as you saw the clock strike 4 AM. This hour always induced a sense of dread, a time too late to sleep, opening the gates to wandering thoughts about life's choices. Moving to Barcelona for him might have been a hasty decision.

In Sevilla, there wasn't much to lose. Your little town overwhelmed you, especially under the weight of your living nightmare, your mother and her pursuit of perfection. That was until she married your toddler brother’s father, her focus shifted almost forgetting about your existence.

He was your escape from that suffocating environment. Initially, it felt liberating, but gradually, it became confining again. The cage expanded as you became his pillar while his name was in everyone’s mouth, especially girls who found him attractive. The weight of being his support, witnessing the attention he received, caused an internal storm. But he wouldn’t change you, right? Yet, the conflict brewed within, the tug-of-war between being the support he needed and holding onto your own identity.

You grew tired of waiting for him, tossing and turning in bed for ten minutes, before finally succumbing to sleep, cocooned in blankets to ward off the cold.

Abruptly opening your eyes, hours later, your body spasmed and your heart raced, reflecting the recent struggles with sleep these days. Observing to your side, relief washed over you; he lay there peacefully, an arm draped over your waist.

Tears welled in your eyes, a sense of loss filling your chest. Deeply in love, you realized your first waking thought was about him, albeit taking a negative turn.

What if I lose him? What if I lost the lighthouse in the middle of the sea? The uncertainty of the waters and the potential fall weighed heavily.

You wanted to get back to those times when you smiled as you landed your eyes, his body next to you, where blonde strands of messy hair framed his face and you delicately organized them while you talked and kissed every morning, staying in bed like an old married couple, feeling each other's warmth, laughter used to fill the air as he playfully booped your nose.

The weight of invisible hands squeezed your chest, making each breath a desperate gasp for air.

You didn't want to feel this anxiety; your breath became erratic. Rushing to the terrace, you breathed as if your mind forewarned a trailer of what has to be.

Struggling to regain control, your hands tightened on the cold railing, a reminder of the grounding reality you struggled to grasp.

Peering down, the height induced paralysis, intensifying your vertigo. "y/n, estás bien?" (are you okay?) His concerned voice, muffled and distant, struggled to penetrate the thick fog of panic, fear rooted you in place, afraid the floor would fall through if you made a step.

"Amor, háblame." (darling, talk to me) He approached, unsure. This panic attack was the first in years. His hand on your shoulder offered reassurance like an anchor, and you emerged from the state, meeting his gaze with your tear-stained eyes; he was still your gentleman. He was still yours.

And you needed to repeat it to stave off madness.

"Abrázame," (hug me) you whispered in a fragile plea. His arms enveloped you, he was the refuge that you needed; his familiar scent eased your breathing.

His head on yours, he sought to share his heartbeat, attempting to quell the sudden anxiety and the questions that haunted your mind. His furrowed brows hinted at his confusion, but conversation could wait. For now, it was about you. The one who never failed him; he couldn't fail you now.

When your body distended completely, he gently guided you back to bed. You clung to him, as if he could run away at any moment.

You walked to your side of the bed and he tucked you in like no one ever did before, leaving a sweet kiss on your forehead, an attempt to dissipate the negativity.

“What time is it?” you inquired, looking up at him.

“Six a.m., sleep. ok?” He stroked your head, and your eyes closed under the weight of fatigue. “I love you so much.”

Days passed after the incident. He chose not to ask more about the reason behind your anxiety, he decided to act as if everything was fine.

This didn't imply he lacked concern for you, but it certainly felt that way. His demeanor towards you was still unchanged.

Feelings unaddressed hung in the air, manifesting in the cold kisses and the superficial small talk that never deepened. But, in front of everyone, you maintained the façade, accepting compliments from everyone about your seemingly perfect relationship. Only if they knew the underlying truth…

Yet, you personally sensed his gradual withdrawal, a palpable feeling of him slipping through your fingers. The strain became evident as you found yourself having to repeat things that were important to you at least three times, only for him to continually forget. Or the lackluster pecks he gave you, making you feel pathetic.

Although feeling unwanted, you weren't a resentful person, so you would religiously sit in the stands at every game and witness how he gained fan's hearts with outstanding performances on the pitch, earning the title of man of one of the champions league matches and you loved how the stadium echoed his name as he made an incredible goal.

You found joy in his happiness, doing his thing with the team of his dreams. In that moment, your mind transported into a different time – those moments when you stood by his side, offering comfort during his moments of self-doubt, back when he believed his dreams would forever be just that – dreams.

His satisfaction meant the world to you. Meeting him as he emerged from the dressing room, already showered, you couldn't help but admire how his wet hair framed his face.

A big smile adorned his face as he approached you. Opening your arms, your bodies collided as he effortlessly lifted you spinning around, creating a whirlwind of laughter that filled the air.

Once he gently set you down, you couldn't contain your pride. Cupping his cheeks, you locked eyes with him. The sense of accomplishment and joy was overwhelming. Your lips met his in a deep, meaningful kiss – one that hadn't been shared in weeks, but in that moment, it felt like the perfect reunion.

You believed this moment marked a fresh start, a much-needed rejuvenation to propel you forward. That optimistic outlook, however, disintegrated after he bid you farewell at your apartment, scrolling through TikTok on your couch, a video of his post-match interview caught your eye, and an involuntary smile crept onto your face.

His voice echoed through the video, captivating in its beauty. The interviewer's final question lingered in the air, "Who are you going to celebrate this with?" Anticipating a mention of teammates, family, and you, you were bewildered as the final words left his mouth – your name conspicuously absent.

And in that instant, the realization struck: he hadn't kept his promise to do a heart gesture to include you in his celebration either. But you decided to let it slide; perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through his veins that caused him to forget, and you were willing to overlook it.

You turned on the TV to avoid your thoughts. He no longer watched movies with you, and lately, the time you spent together felt like his phone held more allure than anything you did to catch his attention.

Without even mentioning that he wasn't fucking you lately, offering excuses of exhaustion from training or unexpectedly halting any progress when things got heated and leaving your folds wet.

But still, your mouth stayed shut, justifying every action. What you didn't know is that only one drop was missing in the glass before it overflowed – the last straw.

And eventually, the bomb exploded in the least suitable scenario. You stood by his side, his arm around your waist, desperately wanting to take his hand out and shout your feelings in front of everyone.

You didn't want to be there; you longed to be at home with your fluffy cat, who offered more comfort than Fermín did in these past months.

He was so smooth about it, engrossed in the conversation with his friends, seemingly oblivious to your distress. You whispered in his ear that you needed to get home, you weren’t feeling at your best, the strobe lights blinding you, the music pulsating louder than your heartbeat. It felt like water was reaching your nose, and you feared you'd stop breathing any moment.

Yet, you stayed, like a naive girl striving to make everything perfect for her lovely gentleman. But was still that gentleman who put you above all else?

The voices and laughter from his friends overwhelmed you. While you genuinely liked them and had never encountered an issue before, this night seemed a challenge you couldn't survive.

Your gaze darted around, hoping for a savior amid the sea of faces. But there was no one.

The air seemed to get thinner, and your chest constricted, as if locked in a slowly tight embrace. The blue dress discomforting your skin, felt like an additional layer of confinement, fantasizing to shed not only the fabric but also the skin beneath.

It was as if transparent walls were materializing around you, and this was the moment to escape a place to which you didn't belong, feeling like a misplaced puzzle piece, you watched him again with pleading eyes, silently urging him to notice you.

“Fer, really, I need to go home.” You whispered, careful not to let his friends overhear. He scanned your gestures, it took him a few seconds to realize that something about you was off. You wish he had seen it earlier.

Everything he did was later than you needed it, when he did the things, you have already fixed yourself into the uncomfortable.

“Okay, let's go.” He nodded and he finally took out his hand off your waist, allowing a momentary exhale. Greetings were exchanged with his friends and you reciprocated, not wanting to show an impolite image.

Almost running, your feet propelled you outside of the disco, pushing people out of your way, without waiting for Fermín.

The doors swung shut behind you, plunging the abrupt silence upon your ears. Relief washed over you.

Closing your eyes, you took deep breaths. You needed to hold yourself like the grown woman you were and not cry. As the doors swung open and closed again, you turned to find Fermín, a frown etched across his face.

“Why didn't you wait for me?” his voice held a trace of anger, making you shiver. Realizing the street wasn't the place for such a conversation, you began walking towards the car, your feet aching from the high heels worn that night.

He hurried to catch up, the tension palpable. When the car alarm reached your ears, signaling it was unlocked, you opened the door and entered as quickly as you could.

Sitting there, attempting to adjust to sudden silence, you sensed his presence beside you.

Leaning back into the headrest, you brought your hands on your face.

He started talking again. “What's going on you?” you hesitated to face him, reluctant to confront those expressive brown eyes you memorized like the back of your hand.

As he insisted again to hear a response, anger got to your head. Without warning, you exploded, all the carefully restrained words meant to preserve your relationship pouring into a torrent.

“I'm just so damn exhausted! I feel like I'm invisible. I ache to be seen, to matter in your eyes again. I’ve been here, baring my soul, and it feels like you're a million miles away.” Your scream echoed, tears smudging your makeup. You saw the weight of his actions settling on him as his eyes reflected comprehension. A sob escaped your lips, he stood frozen. “I'm just asking you to hear me, to truly see me, and realize that I'm shattering inside because I've already fought too much alone for the person who I thought I would marry.”

He shook his head, a boy who had always the right words now seemed that they left their mind, leaving him defenseless. A hesitant pause filled the car.

Lips parted, but the sentences seemed to dissipate before finding form. It was as if they were navigating a maze of thoughts, searching for the right words to offer comfort or understanding, yet coming up empty-handed.

You got tired of waiting, you've been doing it for such a long time, you almost felt old. But if he just opened his mouth, you knew you would forgive him. “Let's go home.” You whispered, disappointed about a man who you were calling the love of your life.

He gripped the steering wheel and hit the road. Memories flooded back of the anecdotes shared in that white car, now slipping through your fingers like ash.

You pondered the absence of rain, almost expecting the heavens to open up. Wasn't it obligatory for the sky to weep when something magical began succumbing to rationalism?

When you arrived at the house, he finally was able to speak. “I'm so sorry for everything that I caused you.” He didn't know if physical contact would be well received from you. So he gripped even more the steering wheel, needing to make something with his hands, getting out the tension.

“What happened to us, Fer?” your heart-wrenching question hitting him. You were already talking in past tense.

There wasn't an exit for this situation, and he knew that. He wished he could build a time travel machine and make everything alright, fix the first mistake that led to this big snow ball that was making an avalanche. “I-I don't know.”

“I think I'm coming back to Sevilla.” you confessed, stepping out of the car. Your headache due to the tears that you've been letting out and your eyes were puffy.

As you stood outside the car, the quiet suburban street provided a bleak contrast to the storm raging within your emotions.

Fermín, still gripping the steering wheel, searched for words that could somehow mend the gashes that had formed between you two. The realization of the inevitable distance settled on him like a heavy cloak.

“I never meant for it to come to this,” he finally uttered, voice heavy with remorse. “I let things slip away, and I can't forgive myself for that.”

You, caught between the pain and the need for resolution, gazed at him with a mixture of sorrow and longing. The familiar surroundings of the neighborhood seemed to transform into a backdrop for the end of something significant. You already knew you were never coming back here.

In the distance, a streetlamp flickered, casting intermittent shadows on the pavement. You took a deep breath, the chill in the air stinging your lungs, and said, “Sometimes, we have to go back to move forward.”

His eyes, filled with regret, met yours. “Is there anything I can do to make things right?”

But the answer remained unsaid, it wouldn't be fair to give him instructions and keep rowing and carrying him while he was just there. Wounds were already too deep and your energy was drained.

You turned away, the distance between Sevilla and this quiet street growing smaller in comparison to the emotional gap that now separated you two.

The door creaked shut, marking the end of a chapter that perhaps, in the unfathomable depths of your heart you didn't want to admit that you anticipated it.

In the solitude of your apartment, surrounded by echoes of shared laughter and the ghost of a love that once flourished, you confronted the daunting task of rebuilding your world. The faint glow from the streetlamp outside cast a melancholic light on the remnants of what was.

Fermín, still parked, felt the shared years withering in the blink of an eye, something you had been discerning for a torturing amount of time. The engine hummed softly, an averse companion to the lingering regret in the air. As he drove away, the distance between your hearts seemed insurmountable.

You watched as Blaugrana, your Calico fluffy cat, approached you unawarely of everything surrounding her, you sat on the wooden floor with her purring next to you. The sparkle of her collar made you remember how your life was bound to be lived with Fermín forever, in that collar your initials were carved. You didn't want to fall back to this cruel reality.

You even commanded yourself to religion to save your relationship, months before. Night after night, you poured the essence of your yearning into prayers addressed to Aphrodite, beseeching her to weave the threads of love and passion back into your relationship, to restore its former glory. Each whispered plea carried the weight of your sincere desire, a desperate hope that the goddess of love might heed your call and guide your connection to the blissful days of yore.

But even that didn't work. And you realized the hug of what you thought would be a fresh start unraveled into the deceptive clarity of terminal lucidity. Now you would hear the eternal melancholic tone of the complete loss of vital signs. Forever.

#fermin lopez x reader #fermin lopez #fermin lopez angst #football angst #football x reader #gavi x reader #pedri x reader #fermin lopez imagine #fermin lopez x you #football imagine

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 2 months

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but he doesn't know who i am

Summary: Vision learns about Wanda's 2am gym visits and the nightly meetup you'd been anticipating with the witch becomes... something else.

I really can't write summaries: basically Vision's introduction to the series and him meeting R 😭

Word Count: 1357 Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Warnings: back at it again with the self-doubt Part 4 of 'Half of My Hometown' series masterlist <- previous part | next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

“Miss Maximoff, are you quite alright? You are usually not this tired from training.”

Wanda sighs, forcing a smile as she turns towards the approaching synthezoid.

“I'm fine, Vision, thank you. I just had a late night.”

“Were you having nightmares again? They can be common for quite some time after going through traumatic events, such as what you experienced with your family and city.”

“I wasn’t,” Wanda snaps, in a tone which comes out harsher than she had intended. She presses the base of her palm to her eyes in a show of exaggerated tiredness in order to hide the growing anger in her gaze – she knows Vision is trying to help, but something about his phrasing, combined with her limited sleep, draws out her ire. Wanda is overcome by a sudden desire to be talking with you instead, you would understand. While Vision clearly pities her for her life’s tragedies, you know what it’s like – you’ve experienced it. Vision wants her to forget her nightmares, whereas you replenish her mind with the happier moments, even patching her near-forgotten memories with your own recollection of events. Vision is telling her to make a life in the present, but you help her rebuild the foundations of her past.

Wanda tries to bury the comparison; the android is trying his best to understand, and she has only had one full conversation with you since you reunited, so could she really say that all conversations would be like that? She hopes they are, since memories of the five hours of carefree talking still linger fresh in her mind, tugging the corners of her lips upwards whenever she dwells on it.

“I didn't have nightmares,” Wanda continues at last. “Not last night. I went to the gym and lost track of time” – not quite a lie – “it's nicest at 2am, I think, always quiet.”

“Ah, I see,” Vision says, seemingly oblivious to the Sokovian’s inner turmoil, “shall we focus on powers together this session then, if you’ve already exercised in the night? Overworking on the machines can lead to-”

“Yeah, Vision, that sounds good,” Wanda interrupts, not wanting another explanation, “let's work on powers.”

»»————-　★　————-««

You’re lucky that the Compound is sparse in the early hours, because you’re certain you look like an idiot having to fight a grin every time you let your memory wander back to the night before – five hours spent talking with Wanda, yet it had been so comfortable that it hadn’t felt like any time at all. And to top it all off, she had been the one to ask you to do it all over again, with her enthusiasm so explicitly shown that it had left no room for doubt in your mind; she had enjoyed the night just as much as you.

So you smile all through your patrol route that night, watching the clock tick closer and closer to the promised 2am until, eventually, you round the corner and she comes into view.

“Wanda!” you greet cheerily. She’s leaning against a pillar and looking down at her phone but her head shoots up and, upon seeing you, a beaming smile spreads across her face.

“Hi,” she says, and there's once again an awkward moment where neither of you know the right move or what to say. Do you hug her? Kiss her cheek? You'd like to, but, once again, you're interrupted before you can take action.

“Ah, Wanda, you're still here!” a voice calls out. Wanda’s gaze drifts behind you and you abruptly swivel in place to see who is interrupting your time together. Whatever you expected, it isn't this.

Despite the English accent in his voice, the man was decidedly… not English, or human for that matter. The red, humanoid figure floats his way towards you, with the yellow jewel embedded in his head glowing softly.

“Vision, what are you doing up?” Wanda asks, clearly familiar with the man as she takes a step forward, while you take a step back to the sidelines.

“My sleep cycle is only designed to replicate that of a human’s, it's not actually necessary for me.”

You consider asking if he needs to recharge, and how long his batteries last, but you think better of it, not wanting to insult anyone close to Wanda.

“You said this morning that you go to the gym at this time, so I thought I might join you. Then you won't lose track of time and be tired during training, like today,” Vision continues. The same pang of guilt as last night hits you again, since it was your fault that Wanda stayed up so late – Wanda's request to meet again had pushed the responsibility to the back of your mind, but if she's complained about the tiredness to her teammates, then perhaps she had wanted to sleep earlier, but only stayed around and asked to meet at 2am out of politeness, to fit your schedule, rather than her own.

“That's kind of you, Vision, but, uh-” she glances briefly at you, and it's like Vision only just realises you're there too.

“I'm Y/N,” you interrupt, holding a hand out for the newcomer to shake. He looks over at you somewhat indignantly, as if shocked that you would interrupt Wanda's answer, but you know her well enough to know she had been stalling for her next words. Wanda’s relieved reaction to your words is only further confirmation of that.

“Vision,” he introduces, “do you two know each other?”

You glance over to Wanda now, unsure what she wants to reveal to the robot. She takes the hint and seamlessly continues the conversation on your behalf,

“Y/N and I grew up together, back in Sokovia.”

“Oh, and you both ended up here. What a coincidence.”

“Yeah.” You laugh awkwardly. Although there's still the comfort of Wanda standing by your side, the conversation feels stilted and forced with Vision in the room. “I should probably get back to my patrol,” you say after a few more minutes of discussion – which felt more like an interview of Vision against you and Wanda.

Wanda nods her head and shuffles closer to you, but Vision speaks up before she can.

“Yes, Wanda and I should probably get started at the gym too; then you won't have to be up too late!” he says, the last part directed to Wanda only.

Her eyes flick between you and Vision again, the choice of who to go with and who to disappoint suddenly presented before her. Her head is low and she’s fiddling with her rings again, so you make the choice for her before she next speaks.

“Vision is right; I'm sure you both have to be up early for training tomorrow so don't let me keep you.”

Wanda’s head shoots up at you with a wide-eyed glare and you duck your head to avoid meeting her eyes; if she could see into them, then maybe she would see that you didn't want her to leave, that you wanted her to come around with you and talk like the night before.

But to say that would be selfish.

Wanda and you aren’t 12 anymore, you both have responsibilities beyond each other and you can’t allow yourself to get in the way of that for her. Wanda is an Avenger now, and you have to remind yourself that the eyes of the world rest on her, constantly judging and scrutinising her performance in the field. She needs public opinion of her to stay positive – that comes from good performance, and good performance comes from properly training with her teammates. You’d kept her from the gym the night before, and caused the tiredness which had impacted her training enough that had taken note; you couldn’t let that happen again. So you pretend to want her company less than Vision, make the choice so she doesn't have to, and walk away with nothing more than a forced smile and a wave, even when you catch the disappointed look on Wanda's face as she watches you leave.

It's for her own good.

You'll always do what's best for Wanda.

next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

Series Taglist: @holiday-house-of-m @emiliaisdead @wonderingnerd @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @chasethemoon

A/N: I might give up on the gifs at the start, I'm gonna run out at this rate 😭 Anywayyyy, shortish chapter and sorry for the delay! Been a busy week of avoiding my uni work. As always, reblogs and comments are amazing and keep me going, and I hope to have the next part out soon :)

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel #mcu #ikan writes #ikan homh

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novelizt · 6 months

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✨ IT'S BEEN WAITING FOR YOU ✨

📸 1989 TV SONGFIC COLLECTION INCLUDING :

tim drake, draco malfoy, peter parker, gojo satoru, percy jackson, anthony lockwood

❗Unfinished prompts are subject to change. Fics with no hyperlinks are coming soon!

📷 TRACK 1 : Welcome To New York

“ IT'S BEEN WAITING FOR YOU ” — TIM DRAKE

you start life at the big apple and unexpectedly meet a fortune teller who informs you of the name of your future husband. you try not to think too hard about it, but it's difficult. considering your boss has the same name as your future husband.

📷 TRACK 2 : Blank Space

“ DON'T SAY I DIDN'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU ” — DRACO MALFOY

you act like a devil to get your husband to divorce you. only to discover that pushing him away only makes him hold on tighter.

📷 TRACK 3 : Style

“ WE NEVER GO OUT OF STYLE ” — TIM DRAKE

wayne enterprise heir x stark industries heiress

rivals in public, lovers in secret ; two heirs have an explicit arrangement because they can't risk their public image with anyone else.

📷 TRACK 4 : Out Of The Woods

“ WE WERE IN SCREAMING COLORS ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

you think you're hard to love, but he loves you like it's breathing.

📷 TRACK 5 : All You Had To Do Was Stay

“ ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS STAY ” — DRACO MALFOY

you and draco meet again after he had ignored you years before. he wants to tell you why he'd left but he doesn't know how you'd react to him being a criminal.

📷 TRACK 6 : Shake It Off

“ PLAYERS GONNA PLAY ” — GOJO SATORU

it's embarrassing to know that the rumors about you reach other schools. one faithful day, gojo satoru gives you unsolicited advice about doing the shit you want because you'd get hate whether or not you'd do it anyway. a bottle of wine later, and you begin to think he's right.

📷 TRACK 7 : I Wish You Would

“ I WISH YOU WOULD ” — PETER PARKER

your long-time friendship with peter had gone sour. after years of trying to put you behind bars, peter tries to save you from kraven, but you're not sure if you can trust him anymore.

“ I WISH WE COULD GO BACK AND REMEMBER WHAT WE WERE FIGHTING FOR ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

PEERING EYES OVER WROUGHT-IRON FENCES

📷 TRACK 8 : Bad Blood

“ STILL GOT THE SCARS ON MY BACK FROM YOUR KNIFE ” — DRACO MALFOY

turning from childhood friends to enemies, and then learning to tolerate each other after the war is a storm waiting to happen. especially when he had tried to kill you and failed.

📷 TRACK 9 : Wildest Dreams

“ SAY YOU'LL REMEMBER ME ” — PERCY JACKSON

you and percy agree to only see each other for the summer but as august draws to a close, it gets harder and harder to untangle your fingers from his.

📷 TRACK 10 : How You Get The Girl

“ FOR WORSE OR FOR BETTER ” — PERCY JACKSON

hitman! percy

percy is hired to kill an important man in singapore, not expecting to meet and fall for his target's daughter.

📷 TRACK 11 : This Love

“ THIS LOVE CAME BACK TO ME ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

you're back in town. as promised, lockwood welcomes you with open arms. the only difficulty was the fact that you kissed the last time you saw each other.

📷 TRACK 12 : I Know Places

“ I KNOW PLACES ” — PETER PARKER

marvel x pjo crossover ; daughter of athena! reader

peter's only trying to protect you but you're more scared of him than you are of the monsters coming after you.

📷 TRACK 13 : Clean

“ I THINK I AM FINALLY CLEAN ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

lockwood was cursed to be alone. you prove that your love can break curses.

📷 TRACK 14 : Wonderland

“ YOU AND I GOT LOST IN IT ” — TIM DRAKE

you and tim are thrown into wonderland by mad mod. the line between fantasy and reality blur; now, tim stares at you like he wishes you weren't enemies.

“ IT'S ALL FUN AND GAMES 'TIL SOMEBODY LOSES THEIR MIND ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

fantasy au!

you were a princess and you liked to dress in gold. one day, you're snatched by a dragon. come to find out that the dragon is a shape-shifting boy who thought you were a statue.

📷 TRACK 15 : You Are In Love

“ TRYING TO PUT IT INTO WORDS ” — TIM DRAKE

it's hard to find the right words to explain why you love tim.

📷 TRACK 16 : New Romantics

“ I CAN BUILD A CASTLE OUT OF ALL THE BRICKS THEY THROW AT ME ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

you recruit the daring anthony lockwood to stage a relationship that will rile up the press.

— FROM THE VAULT !!

📷 TRACK 17 : "SLUT!"

“ LOVELORN AND NOBODY KNOWS ” — PETER PARKER

a publication comes out, announcing that your hero selves are dating. now, you and peter have to distance yourselves because one, mary jane watson—renowned journalist, has been suspecting you of having an alter ego.

“ IN A WORLD OF BOYS, HE'S A GENTLEMAN ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

lockwood is tasked with the important task of protecting a foreign princess, you. you discovered that you liked his boyish charms more than expected.

📷 TRACK 18 : Now That We Don't Talk

“ THE MORE I GAVE, YOU'D WANT ME LESS ” — CHILDE

how bad can it be, to sleep with the enemy?

📷 TRACK 19 : Say Don't Go

“ I'M YOURS, BUT YOU'RE NOT MINE ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

fantasy au!

you are the heir to the throne, soon to be coronated. he is your loyal guard. when repressed feelings come bubbling to the surface, it's hard to keep away. except, he has to, because a prince should be standing next to you, not him.

📷 TRACK 20 : Suburban Legends

“ BORN TO BE SUBURBAN LEGENDS ” — PETER PARKER

you became strangers when you thought you'd spend your whole lives together. one faithful day, peter gets sucked into an old polaroid picture, returning to the day it was taken; your 18th birthday.

📷 TRACK 21 : Is It Over Now?

“ FAST FORWARD TO 300 TAKEOUT COFFEES LATER ” — PETER PARKER

you and peter agreed to stop whatever was happening between you two for his sake. it wasn't good to date your employer's daughter, after all. the task wasn't easy when you work at the same place.

📷 HIDDEN TRACK : Sweeter Than Fiction

“ PROVED ME RIGHT WHEN YOU PROVED THEM WRONG ” — PETER PARKER

a lot of people had a lot to say about peter when his identity was revealed. he revered how you stuck by his side through all of that, even if all you did was run a fan account.

Feel free to message me if you want to be tagged in a certain fic 😊 I'm open to just squealing about our boys and/or Taylor Swift !!

🦋 — @novelizt 2023

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genderqueerdykes · 9 months

Text

Ditch Etsy for Good: A Disabled Etsy Seller's Experience

i started my Etsy store in August of 2022. I was in desperate need of income at the time, as I am disabled, and waiting for my full disability payments to come through. I currently make $245/month off of a general assistance program that's meant to "help" while you're waiting for those payments.

I needed, at the time, $900/month for my studio apartment, because I was on a month-to-month lease, and could not re-new it, as I was the secondary renter, and my abusive ex whom I could not contact was the primary renter. They needed his signature to renew the lease, or else I was on month-to-month status, which meant they could increase my rent to whatever price they saw fit at any point.

I was struggling to stay alive. I had a bunch of kandi supplies I had gathered over the years, pony beads, string, all that kind of stuff. So i accrued some extra supplies to make other types of necklaces and chokers. Keep in mind my level of poverty, and the level of inflation in 2022. I was having to accrue supplies secondhand, from thrift stores. Everything I bought and sold was upcycled, save for the few times I could afford things to fill in the gaps from craft stores.

After I gathered supplies, I went to work. I spent countless hours making all types of jewelry. Not really sleeping. Just countless hours of stringing beads, if I woke up in the middle of the night from a bad dream or stress about homelessness, I would go back to work. I've been homeless before. Several times. Never lived on the street or in a shelter, but I have lived in hotels, cars, crashed on couches and have run from getting kicked out for making little money endless times.

I drank a lot of coffee and ate very little. Eating consumed time, time that I didn't have. Once I was done making things, it was time to photograph every. single. item., then edit them, and upload them to Etsy. I had to create listings for each individual item, all of which cost $0.20 to create, and again to renew when it ran out in 3 months if not purchased. There was already a start-up cost.

Shipping made my life a nightmare. Etsy charged me for each and every single label. I tried free shipping at first, as it's a huge draw for customers, but labels were around $3.69 from my state to the mainland United States at the time, creeping ever closer to $4. For anywhere else it would easily come to $10 or more, international shipping was easily $20 - $40. Even if the customer paid for shipping I still had to go through the process of purchasing a label.

This didn't account for the fact that I had to purchase printer, ink and paper at some point to keep printing these labels. Ink is wildly expensive and your cartridges run out faster than they should. They are rigged to flag as empty when they're not. This also does not account for ink and paper lost when the printer does something in error, which is often. The office at my apartment complex was willing to print labels and packing slips for me for a while, but they cut me off after a few months.

The biggest kick in the teeth was the processing time for my payments. Because I shipped my first few orders without tracking labels. Etsy put a hold on my money for the next 3 months. They would take a random amount of time to process each payment. I could never figure out the schedule. My money would sometimes take days or weeks to arrive when I set Etsy to a "daily" payment schedule. It was torture. I was sweating over not having money constantly, and missing payment deadlines left and right.

I was getting orders at every hour of the day. I didn't "clock out" of this job. I had to change the notification sound of the Etsy Seller app on my phone because when I heard it, I would panic. I wasn't excited, I was filled with dread. It was never ending, and I was constantly stressed about getting orders out on time. I never had time to rest. I didn't get days off. I was on the job 24/7. Unless you completely uninstall the Etsy app and refuse to check it fora while, you can't really clock out of this job.

This isn't even touching the fact that Etsy also takes a cut out of every single sale you make, meaning you have to jack up your prices wildly either to make free shipping reasonable so you're not losing money on each sale, or you have to play a dance of figuring out what the best balance between shipping and item costs are, which is time consuming. It's a lot of math and comparing against your niche's market.

Etsy has an ads feature, which you must again pay for, where they will run ads for your products in random banner ads and whatnot. You are charged if one customer clicks the ad, not purchases something, meaning this is a complete fucking scam. The minimum is $1/day and you are forced to subscribe monthly. You can cancel at any point, but sometimes it takes a full day for this to cancellation to go through. The Etsy Ads feature sucks ass. I received exactly 2 orders through their service and kept it on for a few weeks here and there. It's horrid. You do not receive a significant enough boost in traffic to make the investment worth it. Also consider how many people use adblockers these days. This isn't hard to see.

The amount of time you have to spend promoting and boosting your own shop, buying supplies, creating and photographic products, uploading them to the website, and everything else in between is not worth the amount of money you make. You do not turn a profit unless you are selling very high end products like fine jewelry and antiques. Anyone else in the bottom rungs loses money through one avenue or another, Etsy finds ways to make the entire process draining and expensive for the seller.

The also will not provide you a 1099 document to file your taxes for your earned income unless you have made over $25,000 in one year on Etsy, which is literally impossible unless you make, as I said, fine jewelry. The average Etsy seller does not make this much in one year. We do not make a liveable wage, yet Etsy pretends like we do.

I didn't realize how draining it was to run this store until I put it in vacation mode. I'm shutting it down as soon as I'm able to. I could not handle the pressure of orders coming in in the middle of the night. I could not handle the pressure of not being able to remember which bracelets I could wear, and which ones were up on the store. Or which ones I could give to friends freely without having to issue someone a refund because I made a mistake. The worry of sending the wrong customer the wrong product was constantly on my mind. Every review that came in made me scared I had fucked up or provided an inferior product. I was distraught, broken and scared.

Now I'm much more free. The piddly jackshit amount of income I made was not worth it at all. I don't think I made back the cost of supplies and I definitely was never compensated for the sheer amount of labor I put into my products and orders. Etsy just kept kicking me while I was down and now that they have made it so that you are unable to file a class action lawsuit against them, they are only becoming more tyrannical.

Etsy does not care about their small sellers. They only care about the big cash cows who bring in big views and line Etsy's pockets with the Etsy Ads program. If you're too poor too keep up they'll chew you up and spit you out. Fuck Etsy. Fuck the lack of respect for their sellers. Fuck them for holding my money randomly for 3 months because I didn't know tracking labels were REQUIRED in their eyes. Fuck Etsy for never letting me know when I was getting paid, and for paying me on such an irregular schedule. Fuck Etsy for the fucked up fees and expensive shipping labels.

Fuck Etsy for everything. Let them go. Cut the cord. Navigate to Ko-Fi or somewhere else. Let this horrid site fucking die.

#our writing #our shop #our store #etsy

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thebellearchives · 1 year

Text

𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

~ Vash the Stampede ; Trigun Stampede

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : when Wolfwood asks about your favourite colour he seems confused about what exactly you are describing

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : vash x artist!reader, gn!reader, fluff

‧₊˚ a / n : i’m kind of tired of the “reader is an artist” cliché but i saw this tiktok and then found myself writing away at 4 am help https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMY4YkrdB/

The heat of the sun almost disappeared to you the moment the pastel chalks started producing a calming sound against your sketchbook’s paper. You didn’t know how much free time you were getting today. Or tomorrow, or any other day really. So a simple quick depiction of the landscape was the way to go.

The car had gotten too small for the five of you at a certain point of the journey, so the decision to get out of the vehicle and stretch your sore cramped limbs had probably been one of Wolfwood’s scarce good ideas. As the chalk scratched the paper, you lost track of everyone and didn’t really know where they had wandered off. It was only you and your sketchbook. A rich ocre for the base colour of the dunes, some light touches of beige for the highlights, and caramel and cinnamon for the shadows and definition. Your hand fluttered here and there, carefully placing the pigments over the parchment textured paper and creating solid images out of vague designs. Then, using your fingertips you smudged the chalk from rough to soft. You smiled in satisfaction. The dunes looked very nice, now time for the sky. Your hand reached for the sky blue chalk, but soon found out your were close to running out of that colour. A frown appeared on your face.

With a tired snarl, Wolfwood made a sudden appearance right by your side. He was so nonchalant that the noisy way he sat down snapped your thoughts away from the chalk in your hand.

“What’s up birdie? You’re running out of blue?”

“Unfortunately” an annoyed sigh left your lips, but you went ahead and tried not to use much of it. Surely you could finish the drawing and save up the rest until you could get your hands on more chalk?

“None of the other colours look like they’ll be used up any time soon. You use it too much, honestly” he yawned disinterestedly.

“ I can’t help it” your voice almost came up as a complaint.

“Is it your favourite?”

“Obviously”

“Not obvious at all.”

“Why would anyone not like blue?” you frowned again, this time in disbelief that anyone could ever not like blue, your hand stopping mid stroke.

Wolfwood was suddenly interested, he leaned a bit closer to you with a teasing smirk.

“I don’t know, why do you like it?”

Your eyes focused in front of you, where the sky was still bright. Vash, Meryl and Roberto were now gathered together directly in front of you both, lively talking about something you could not hear. You stared at Vash for a while, trying to gather your words and thoughts correctly. You thought about the way you couldn’t get your sight off his eyes sometimes, and how you had to remind yourself you were staring. Yes, the colour reminded you of the sky… but it also reminded you of those eyes…

“It feels… endless, infinite. Like it could drown you in it or you could get lost in it for hours and you’d love it, you’d never get enough of it. It’s just so full of brightness, it has so much to offer. It’s placid… and kind.”

Vash seemed to have lost interest in the conversation Meryl and Roberto were having, his beautiful eyes wandered off until they were placed on you. He offered you a sweet smile and a wave. You smiled and waved back.

“Wait, are you still talking about the colour or are you talking about someone else now?” his grin grew wider.

Startled, you cleared your throat and went back to your drawing.

“Don’t be ridiculous, i’m talking about the colour, obviously.”

“Yet again, not obvious at all.” he laughed as you hurried to finish the drawing. Maybe if you finished quickly you could escape his teasings.

#; fluffy belle #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #trigun #vash x y/n #trigun vash #vash x you #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede x you #vash imagine #vash imagines #trigun stampede imagine #gn!reader

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empty-movement · 1 year

Note

sorry but please... post your akio plastic covered couch tweet here... the world needs to know...

Warning: pics of gross shit happening on the couches

I'll do you one better and include the STORY! So, I, Vanna (note: Yasha mostly does the Tumblr and I mostly do the Twitter,) was smoking enough weed to knock out a large horse or put a very tiny dent in my constant back and shoulder pain, as one does when when they're a middle-aged Registered Nurse in the year 2023. (I'm 39 but it's an old 39, lmao.)

Scrolling through Twitter, I stumble on a fanart of Suletta from Witch of Mercury sitting goofily on a white couch. Now I haven't seen this show yet, but the white couch....looked familiar, and I know the show is very much a descendent of Utena in terms of creative teams. For those that don't know, the series is written by Ichirō Ōkouchi, who also wrote the two Revolutionary Girl Utena novelizations...which if you didn't know about before, you know about now, and can read translated on our site here! (Warning: Touga and Miki uh, in the novels...)

Anyways, so I hop onto my own website and start downloading the images that will constitute receipts, before realizing 1. these images are all on multiple computers feet away from me, 2. the couch isn't an identical match, 3. that'd have been weird anyway, and most importantly, 4:

AKIO'S COUCHES DON'T LOOK RIGHT. OBSERVE:

The edges of the armrests have sloppier upholstery than the blanket I have covering my computer desk. I took the time to tuck seams at least. What is this??

Now it could absolutely be leather, I thought. It would absolutely track. But leather upholstery doesn't look like this. It doesn't wrinkle quite this way. It would have cleaner seams.

No. No that's too shiny for leather. So here I am, presented with this strangeness I'd never really considered in how Akio's couch is drawn, and having spent the last few months learning about my Italian-American family history, my chemically altered ass came to the only reasonable conclusion:

Akio Ohtori has plastic coverings on his white couches, like he's a depression era American in poverty.

Fuck yeah, I though, A HIT TWEET, there, at the end of all Tweeting things. (Yeah I'm working on that, stay tuned, lmao. I of all people know when to bail on stupid men with stupid power.) Because I am me, I framed it as semi serious by pulling a context to explain it out of my ass:

I was joking.

But the replies? They were not. And then I thought about it some more. And I've kept thinking about it. Do I seriously think Ikuhara and Co literally are intentionally drawing a plastic covered couch? Doesn't that feel, Vanna, like a bit of a stretch, even for Utena meta?

Listen to that CRONCH when Akio sits down in episode 31, before Anthy is seen by Nanami. Look, the buttons on the back rest don't quite fit, but the rest? Yeah it kinda does. I was high, but not wrong!?

Akio *does* surround himself with a bizarre hodgepodge of Americana as an aesthetic. The arm garters. The piping and cut of his cowboy-ass shirt. His American car. His mullet. His miniature fucking golf. Why not the plastic covered couch? It's a trope of American poverty that would absolutely have fallen neatly into the diet of American pop culture that influenced Ikuhara. (He makes references to E.T. and The Godfather and Suspiria and all kinds of things in his other work, Utena itself is a little less obvious with individual references but inherits HUGE amounts of vibes from the same content--Ikuhara and Co watched Lost Highway in theaters during the production of the Akio Arc and I will not be convinced otherwise.)

So yeah. That's the story, and that's the theory. Do I seriously believe it was deliberate? Maybe. Probably. Possibly. But it fits so well it's headcanon for me, and in the Utena fandom, pretty much all canon is kind of headcanon so enjoy this one.

What an asshole.

#utena #revolutionary girl utena #utena meta #akio ohtori #akio's couches #do I really need to point out the functional utility of plastic covered couches for this particular character though

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thisbelongsto-nohbodys · 7 months

Note

4-year-old Lily: Ugh, I hate kindergarten!

Sasha: What's wrong, Lily?

Lily: My teacher is so mean. She made me sit in time out for no reason.

Anne: Why would she do that?

Lily: I don't know. All I did was bring one of mama's sketchbooks for show and tell.

Lily pulls out the sketchbook and opens it. Anne and Sasha are shocked to see it's full of erotic drawings of them.

Marcy:[nervously] Um, sweetie, where did you find that?

Lily: It was just laying on your bedroom floor. Am I in trouble?

Anne and Sasha angrily glare at Marcy.

Marcy: No, but I think I might be.

In Marcy’s defense, nsfw sketchbook of her wives volume 237 fell off the bed after said wives grabbed her when the drawing session was over the night before and so Marcy lost track of it

#ask #amphibia #sashannarcy #Lily Boonchuy

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myreia · 12 days

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15 Lines of Dialogue Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well!

thanks for the tag, @thevikingwoman and @bearlytolerant, ty frens!

tagging: @roguelioness @lilas @galadae @ellstersmash @fourteenthz

@tsunael @birues @ardberts @gatheredfates @anneapocalypse

@impossible-rat-babies @coldshrugs @gefiltefished @consulaaris

sorry if you've been tagged before, I have... lost track of who has done what. 😂 No pressure, ofc! 💖 tags also for anyone else who would like to share their writing! Feel free to tag me even if I didn't tag you or even if we're not mutuals, I'd love to see what you're working on!!

These are from published (and one unpublished) ffxiv fics. Because a lot of my favourite Aureia lines happen within the context of banter, I had a hard time deciding what to cut and where.

— 1: Far From Happenstance [ARR]

“What’s that thing on your arm?” “This? Ah… well… Perhaps this conversation is best saved for later, perhaps in a less conspicuous place?” “Or we could have it now. Your choice.”

— 2: Uncertainty [ARR]

“Tailing unsuspecting women about the city is nothing to be proud of.” “I have done nothing of the sort! Our meetings have been no more than happenstance, a quirk of nature drawing us to the same spot at the same time. I assure you, Aureia, I am not following you—” She stifles a snort, laughter tugging at the corners of her lips. “Oh…” He blows out a breath. “Oh, you’re joking? That was a joke. You have an unfair sense of humour…” “Don’t make yourself such an easy target next time.”

— 3: To Ash and Ember [ARR]

Lahabrea stares at her, startled out of his victory, mouth twisted with contempt. “How—” Aureia raises a hand, palm sheathed in blinding light. “Get the fuck out of him, you bastard.”

— 4: Sand and Stone [ARR]

“This is good for us,” she says quietly. “The Scions, I mean. We’re exposed here. Ascians, Garleans… it’s only a matter of time before they try again. Mor Dhona will afford us some means of protection we’ve lost.”

— 5: Bitter Frost [ARR/HW]

“You press on,” she says after a moment. She cups her palm between them, subconsciously pulling on the aether around her. A faint flame sizzles to life, warming her fingers. “Guilt can only carry you so far before it bleeds you dry. Just know that the next time… the next time will be different. Better.”

— 6: Divergence of the Heart, Chp 5 [HW]

“I don’t care what they say about me. I’m a hero to some, a villain to others. I can live with it.” “You should not have to. If there was a way—” “Please, Aymeric, I’m begging you not to draft a new statute on my behalf. You can’t decree change and expect centuries-old beliefs to shift overnight.”

— 7: Divergence of the Heart, Chp 7 [HW]

“Happiness? What makes you think I’m happy with this? With any of this?” “You’re the Warrior of Light. Defender of Eorzea and a beacon of hope. Blessed by Hydaelyn and beloved by all. What possible reason could you have not to be?” “Oh, fuck you.”

— 8: Divergence of the Heart, Chp 8 [HW]

She blinks. It shouldn’t be more simple than that. Does he not comprehend why this is so profoundly embarrassing? “And..?” “And how would this fact be of such radical importance that it would be the sole cause of a change in my opinion of you? Do you believe it so crucial to your identity that I should judge you differently for it?” “No, I don’t think that at all. I suppose I feel I’m… a failure, somehow. As a person.”

— 9: For All the Truths Left Unspoken [HW]

“Oh? Because you seem a little haggard, Thancred. Why don’t you look me in the eye and tell me what time you went to bed last night. Or if you went to bed at all, for that matter.” “It is not your concern—” “No, but you could have at least done the decency of admitting what was going on before you started fucking my friend.”

— 10: A Question of Desire [HW]

She cuts him off with a kiss. [Aymeric] groans softly, leaning into it, and she laughs with delight. “Save it for later,” she murmurs against his mouth.

— 11: Bound by Faith, Chp 2 [ShB]

“Under pain of further admonishment, I told her what I could.” “Nothing unfavourable, I trust,” she says drolly. “Who do you take me for, Aur?” “An idiot, if I’m being honest. Next question?” “…stumbled right into that one, didn’t I?” “Yes.” Her eyes sparkle with fondness. “You did.”

— 12: Bound by Faith, Chp 2 [ShB]

“There. That’s it. Aureia was a name I took by chance. Not because I wanted it, but because I needed it. An alias intended for Ul’dah alone, one I intended to relinquish the moment I could escape the city. But then you called me Aur and it… stuck.” She hesitates, her voice breaking. “I don’t know why it felt right, but it did. You gave me a name, Thancred, without even realizing that that was what you were doing.”

— 13: Bound by Faith, Chp 4 [ShB]

“They don’t hurt. At least, not like this. Sometimes, with astral fire…” She closes her eyes and swallows hard. “He did something to me, Thancred. Whether it was his intention or not, he left a mark that is more than skin deep. Like a part of his aether was seared onto mine. It makes me powerful, yes, but… my magic is not always controlled. It’s never been the same since then.”

— 14: Untitled Post-5.3. Fic, Chp 2

She glances at him and finds him glaring at her. It’s not a real glare—behind the dark look and mock exasperation is a knowing smile. “She’s taken full reign of the apartment. Mess everywhere. Looks like a tempest went through the place.” “Far too easy to imagine that.” “I don’t know where she gets it from.” “Oh, I know for certain. That’s the influence of your bad habits, not mine—” “I—listen here, you ass—” “Oh, an ass, am I? Bit early to deteriorate to name calling, no?”

— 15: Untitled Post-5.3. Fic, Chp 4

“Aur… that suite I mentioned earlier… I was quite serious about it.” “The suite or the sex you want to have with me in it?” “The whole matter.” She pauses, holding the soup out to him. “You should finish it,” she says quietly.

#aureia malathar #writing tag #oc tag

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 1 year

Note

Headcanons on One Bad Day… please! <3

Hi anon!!!! 💖 These seem very popular! I'm so glad you all are so invested in this world, and story I've created! Thank you so much! 🥰 I love doing these and am always up for more!

The Rumors About Batmom and Bruce's Relationship:

It was no secret how the people of Gotham viewed Batmom, especially Bruce's wealthy contemporaries. No one could accept that they were just two young people who had fallen in love. All sorts of rumors surrounded their relationship, the most popular being:

Batmom was using a love potion or loved based power to enchant Bruce into loving her so she could have access to his money

Batmom was a prostitute that Bruce hired to avoid the tabloids finding out about a secret relationship with someone else

Batmom was a prostitute who Bruce knocked up so he agreed to pretend to be in a relationship with her

Batmom was a prostitute who had found out some scandalous dirt on Bruce and she was blackmailing him to keep quiet

Batmom was a prostitute who convinced Bruce he loved her so they would get married and she could kill him and inherit all of his wealth

Batmom was a charity case Bruce was pretending to date in order to improve his public appearance and boost stocks in Wayne Enterprises

It should be noted that at no point in Batmom's life was she a prostitute. Just a woman from the poorest neighborhood in Gotham who was orphaned at a young age and forced to care for herself.

Batmom Adjusting to Life with Bruce:

Besides just the scrutiny of the public, going from living in the slums of Gotham to Wayne Manor was a huge adjustment for Batmom.

For the first year, she got lost in the maze of doors ad hallways at least once a week. Bruce finally tried drawing her a map, but his lack of artistic ability just made it more confusing.

Having never lived outside the city before, the quiet stillness of the land outside the Manor was unnerving to her. She never imagined she would miss the noise of sirens, gunshots, and yelling all through the night but it had become almost like a calming white noise to her over the years. She had a lot of trouble sleeping at first because of the silence.

Batmom is used to having to beg, barter, or steal almost everything in her life. So when Bruce just throws money, jewels, clothes, and gifts at her all the time, she doesn't know how to handle it (she also doesn't really want most of it). They eventually come to an understanding that necessity items can be purchased without a second thought (this includes crimefighting-related items), but anything purchased specifically as a luxury or gift item for her has to have a specific meaning or relevance behind it. This would eventually include things like a first edition of The Princess Bride signed by the author for her birthday (it is the one she reads to Jason), a simple silver necklace Bruce tracked down that had belonged to her mother, and a custom-made dress which was identical to the one she was wearing when they first met as a present for their 10 year anniversary (this was also just over a month before Jason was killed).

Batmom didn't only have to adjust to living with Bruce. She also had to adjust to living with Batman. The first night he came home covered in bloody wounds, she nearly moved out. She had seen him hurt a hundred times before (she had even caused a few of his scars), but it was somehow different that time. Maybe it was because she loved him so much deeper at that point or maybe it was because their home was supposed to be a safe haven for them and now it was drenched in blood. But whatever the reason, she pulled it together and stayed. She didn't go on patrol very often, but almost every night she monitored Bruce on the Batcomputer, ready to assist in any way should he need it. She also used less-than-reputable connections she had made from her time as Night Watch to gather information that Batman couldn't.

HC’s Part 1, HC’s Part 2, HC’s Part 3, HC’s Part 4

One Bad Day.... Series Masterlist

#thanks!#anon ask #one bad day....#hc #batmom #batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x batmom

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lucybellwood · 9 months

Text

Day 4:

I hold my breath all the time.

I notice it most when I’m lost in a social media spiral or playing a video game or watching a stressful scene in a film. My body grows shallow, rigid, arid. I lose track of how porous I am; how necessary it is to let the chest air itself out like a drawing room.

When I catch myself at it, there’s always this very specific moment of recognition. I blink. I draw in a deep lungful. It’s startling—like being smacked on the back right after birth. My eyes go wide. I think about Neo coming out of the Matrix. I laugh. I remember where I am.

I remember that nothing is worth making myself shallow over.

I return to the world.

(What She Knows is a deeply personal card deck originally drawn in secret over three months in 2020. You can learn more about it here.)

#what she knows #oracle deck #personal work #100 day project #the 100 day project #breathing #mindfulness

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slayerkitty · 7 months

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Narrative Frameworks in Only Friends

Something I have been tracking as part of the ongoing discussions about Only Friends is the use of the narrative framework for each episode.

So, I’m making this list specifically for tracking purposes, to note which framework was used for which episodes, if they repeat, and what they may be paying homage to. The goal is to update it every week. Due to suggestions, I am also tracking the end credit scenes, as well as any specific visual or audio formats used in the episodes.

Frameworks so far:

1. Voiceovers: gives the audience specific insight into a characters thoughts and feelings; also a great way to provide exposition. It’s more of an audio than visual framework, as we don’t always see the character doing the voice-over because it plays over other scenes.

2. “Talking Heads” (is there a better descriptor for this?): The characters talk directly to the camera, interview/documentary style. We get to see exactly how they feel about a given moment because they are reacting to it at that time. Audio and visual. Homage to Love8009 (per P'Jojo).

3. Social Media (ft The Artist Formerly Known as Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook): Not as insightful as the other two frameworks but does give context and a way for interaction, commentary, and exposition on a given plot. Visual. Probable homage to Together With Me, one of the first spicy BLs starring our kings, MaxTul.

(Side Note: I was re-watching some scenes from Never Let me Go and realized P'Jojo uses yellow text on the screen in it too. So maybe he just likes the yellow text or maybe it means something, idk, idk.)

Episode 1

Framework: Voiceover

Title: What’s Your Role in a Bar?

Narrator: Mew

Visual Moment: Yellow title cards listing everyone’s “roles” as well as the month and days of the week in episode one

End Credit Shot: Mew sitting on the floor in front of his fish tank

Episode 2

Framework: Talking Heads

Title: M.F.M. My Favorite Man

Narrator: Everyone

Visual Moment: The talking heads scenes

End Credit Shot: Ray driving

Episode 3

Framework: Social Media (Twitter and Instagram)

Title: What Am I to You?

Narrator: Nick and Boston

Audible Moment: Nick listening to the TopBoston sex audio

End Credit Shot: Nick listening to TopBoston sex audio

Episode 4

Framework: Voiceover

Title: Emergency Contact

Narrator: Ray

Visual Moment: The flashback of RayMew is in 4:3 ratio; meaning it looks like recorded footage versus a memory, yellow text onscreen indicates flashback

End Credit Shot: Ray driving (repeat from episode 2)

Episode 5:

Framework: Voiceover

Title: The Extra Hour

Narrator: Sand

Visual Moment: Intro and Outro are animated; black and white (made me think of the Take on Me MV by A-ha but I’m open to suggestions on what this might be referring to)

End Credit Shot: Sand driving his motorcycle

Episode 6:

Framework: None

Title: Happy Fucking Birthday

Narrator: None

Audible Moment: Ray listens to the TopBoston sex audio; Mew plays the TopBoston sex audio for Top

Visual Moment: Top draws Mew sleeping/gives Mew a book of drawings he did of Mew

End Credit Shot: Top in his bathtub alone looking angsty

Episode 7:

Framework: None

Title: After Effect

Narrator: None

Visual Moment: Mew setting the drawing on fire; Boston’s sex tape; the “super zooms”

End Credit Shot: Mew sitting on the floor in front of his fish tank (repeat from episode 1)

Episode 8:

Framework: None

Title: Save Me

Narrator: None

Visual Moment: Facebook party invite/everyone’s reactions to the invite; Everyone’s costumes at the party

End Credit Shot: Boston looking angsty at the hostel

Episode 9:

Framework: None

Title: The Return

Narrator: None

Visual Moment: Boston's photo of Atom; Top recording SandRay kissing, BOEING (I had to, lmao)

End Credit Shot: Top in his bathtub alone looking angsty (repeat from episode 6)

Discussion: Once again, no framework or narrator this week. I speculated along with @twig-tea that this means we have left the fantasy world (we, along with Mew, have lost our “rose-colored glasses”) and all that’s left is reality and consequences.

It’s almost like the show started as a BL (using/subverting the standard tropes, etc) until the midpoint and then veered into a queer drama. Having said that, post episode 9, I think we're firmly back in BL territory. This was the OF "beach" episode. Fences are starting to be mended. There's still honesty and consequences though, so the frameworks aren't back yet.

Spoiler Alert (avoid this next paragraph if you don’t want any spoilers)

P'Jojo posted on The Artist Formerly Known as Twitter some pictures that imply the talking heads framework is coming back, with at least Sand and Ray. Does that mean the characters are trying to escape reality again? That they will be back to lying to themselves?

If anyone can think of anything else to add, please let me know! If you would like to be tagged in this post or any other meta, let me know and I’ll add you.

Tagging the Ephemerality Squad: @lurkingshan, @waitmyturtles, @wen-kexing-apologist, @chickenstrangers, @ranchthoughts, @twig-tea, @clara-maybe-ontheroad, @distant-screaming, @thatgirl4815, @elizabethsebestianhedgehog

Tagging @sandrayy by request

Apologies to anyone I forgot!

#only friends the series #only friends meta #thai bl

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washy0uaway · 6 months

Text

Kiss City Pt. 4

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!Reader Word Count: 1.6k Chapter Summary: Movies with our favorite guy to recover, things be heating UP y'all. Series Summary: The thing you expected least on what you swore was a day set out to be cursed by the universe, was Frankie.

Shoot me a message or respond to be added to the tag list :)

Series Masterlist | Part 3

It’s comical really, how the already tiny Apple TV remote somehow grows smaller in his massive hands - one of which is still draped across your abdomen, resting on the bone of your hip. “Shit,” Frankie mutters as he presses the wrong button for a second time. Shifting to your side and propping yourself upwards and facing him, that hand on your waist comes dangerously close to your ass.

“Here,” you offer, resting a much smaller hand on his as your petite fingers press the right buttons, starting the second movie with ease.

It musters a slightly embarrassed “Thanks,” from him as you reach and set the remote back on the table. “Tiny ass remote, not so tiny ass hands,” he explains. Spreading his fingers apart, glancing down at his palm angled slightly toward you as proof.

You can’t be held responsible for moving your palm to meet his. You just wanted to feel him, even if it was under the guise of comparing hand sizes. Even with your longer acrylic nails, Frankie can still bend his knuckles to wrap around the tips of your fingers. The hand on your hip tightens its grip just slightly as he does. It’s not intentional and he doesn’t even notice - but you do.

“Your hands are fucking tiny, hermosa,” he realizes after a slight closed mouth chuckle.

“I’m pretty fucking tiny Frankie, if you hadn’t noticed.” At a solid 5’1 (and only on a good day), he was nearly a whole foot taller than you.

“I had,” he admits. Going out on a limb, he shifts his hand in yours until your fingers are fully intertwined, now resting in his lap. His eyes trail up to meet yours when he adds, “it’s cute.”

You roll your eyes but the blush spreading across your cheeks is not lost on him.

“Whatever you say, Morales. How about some popcorn?” A single eyebrow raised, and Frankie’s not sure how you keep doing this. Each new expression he sees spread across your features draws him in further. He wants to learn you, each expression - take it all in.

“Popcorn would be great, just don’t spoil your appetite. We ARE still ordering tacos.”

“We fucking better be,” you respond as you saunter into the kitchen.

A few moments later, after grabbing a beer from the fridge for Frankie and starting tea for yourself, he hears rustling from your kitchen. Like something is being dragged across the hardwood floor.

Intrigued, he interrupts. Poking his head into your kitchen with a “What the hell are you doing?” He is indeed seeing you drag a barstool across the kitchen toward an open cupboard.

“Top shelf,” you motion with a slight nod of your head in the direction of your pantry, still actively dragging the damn thing. “Can’t reach.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“We’ll I mean,” stopping in your tracks as you’ve reached the edge of the counter, giving him a smirk. One hand on your hip, the other resting on the barstool, you feed his words back to him, “Tall ass cabinets, not so tall ass legs.”

He laughs, but you’re already turning around starting to scale the stool.

Two strides is all it takes before he’s snapping a playful, “nope, absolutely not,” at you, wrapping am arm around your waist and planting your feet on the ground.

Except now, oh no. Now you’re backed against your kitchen counter, Frankie’s body brushing against yours slightly in the commotion.

“You’re ridiculous,” you joke. “I get stuff from the top shelf on that stool all the time.” Fully playing into the situation, just slightly amping up the doe eyes as he looks down, your gazes locking for what feels the millionth time today.

Without breaking eye contact for even a second, he reaches above you and pulls the box of popcorn from its home on the shelf. “Not when I’m around,” he’s stern but soft, coming from a place of .. concern? Caring? You can’t be sure, but my god do you want to find out.

Setting the box beside you, Frankie’s long arms come to cage you in by resting on the counter at your sides. Then, it’s another few seconds that feel like hours. When he looks at you, and I mean really looks at you, it stirs something in you. It’s almost unsettling how strongly you feel for one another already.

His eyes then start tracing each of your features, including the bump on your forehead. He again reaches out to brush a stray hair from your face, but when he breaks the silence again as he does, his voice is different.

“What am I going to do with you?” Deep. Rough. Low. Gravelly. Sexy as fuck, with his signature softness somehow still shining through. Not to mention, his eyes spending another few long seconds looking at your mouth before finding their new found home back on yours.

Your stomach knots and arousal builds as his calloused thumb traces your plush lower lip, your mouth slightly parted. The way his palm cups the side of your neck under the edge of your jaw and his long fingers spread into your hair has you absolutely reeling, heart pounding in your chest.

“I don’t know,” you continue, just barely above a whisper. He’s so close he can feel your breath on his face as you begin to melt beneath him.

Then suddenly, there’s a slight mischievous glint in your eye (absolutely deadly, if you were to ask Frankie). “What did you have in mind?”

That does him in. Entirely. His thumb on your lips is instantly replaced by his own meeting yours.

It’s intoxicating. Insanely intense, but not too rough. Not yet. But that’s when you sneak your tongue out to run it across his bottom lip. It’s quick and delicate, almost as if you’re trying to be sneaky about it.

He’d usually ask permission for a first kiss, and that usually wasn’t with anyone he’d only known a few hours. But my god, Frankie can’t help himself. The hand not spreading across the back of your neck finds salvation on your hip first, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

It’s not there long though. He slips his tongue in your mouth as he wraps his entire arm around the small of your back and his grip on you drives you mad.

You let him know when you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers running through his hair (hat long forgotten on the couch). A small groan escapes your lips, finding its home between his.

Before you’ve even noticed the placement of his hands shifting, he’s lifted you on the countertop to sit with ease. Your legs spread instinctively and his hands squeeze your hips, dragging your clothed core towards his own.

You stay like this for what is probably longer than either of you think. Frankie’s hands are everywhere, running up your thighs and then your sides, sneaking their way under your crop top. His fingers wrap around your rib cage as yours still dance in his hair, pulling slightly when he nips at your lips or finds a ticklish spot on your body.

Coming up for air a few minutes later, he sighs and nuzzles his forehead in the crook of your neck. "I'm not usually like this," he admits before planting a delicate kiss on your collarbone.

"What do you mean?" your nails tracing the back of his neck and into his hair has him on another planet.

"Well, I'm usually more of a gentleman. We just met and I haven't even taken you to dinner yet."

Your pull on his hair brings his head up to face you and you cup his face in your hands. Oh, sweet Frankie.

"I can't say I'm complaining, though. Would you feel better if I let you pay for tacos?" You offer with an eyebrow raised.

"Please," he pleads with wide eyes, before he starts kissing you everywhere but your lips. Pecks on your cheek, nose, jaw, arms wrapping around your waist and holding you close.

"Okay," you concede with a laugh. "If that means I get to keep kissing you, it's a small sacrifice."

Offering his hand to help you off the counter, you purse your lips and speak again. "You know, the popcorn will take a few minutes.." voice trailing off as he realizes what you're insinuating.

Dashing like a madman, he unwraps the popcorn bag and puts it in the microwave, sets the time, and presses start. When he kisses you again, it's hungrier. A new found confidence knowing you want this as much as he does. The way your tongues dance and his hands fit perfectly anywhere they're placed have you wondering. Where has he been hiding? How have I gone my whole life without this?

"Fastest three minutes of my life," you whine between kisses when the microwave beeps.

"You know, we should probably let it cool down before we eat it anyway," he responds, mouth now planting kisses on your neck, nipping ass he goes. "Just to be safe."

More than a minute passes while you're drunk on each other. His hands finding their way under your shirt, just to feel the warmth of the skin on your lower back, kneading like he needs you.

"Frankie," you whisper when you can get a word in. He pulls away for a moment and the look on his face (dazed, in awe of you), gives you all the confidence you need for what you're about to ask.

"Can you have sex with a concussion?"

-----

Tagging @lilipads @harriedandharassed @anoverwhelmingdin @missladym1981

#frankie morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal x reader #francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal #fanfic #triple frontier fanfic #francisco catfish morales

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olicitymckono · 1 year

Text

Part 2

Note: Absolutely love Charlotte

2 Years Later

Graduation was fast approaching, and Y/n had yet to tell anyone about her acceptance to the Royal College of Art. She had received the letter weeks ago but seemed to find excuses every time someone asked what her plans were after graduation. Arthur was definitely on track to become a Formula 1 driver just like his brother and was fast taking the F2 world by storm. Tonight though, racing and any conversation of the sort was not permitted. Y/n and Carla were upstairs in the Leclerc home getting ready for the last dance of their high school lives. Arthur and Charles were downstairs the latter trying to calm his brother’s nerves.

“Why do dances have to be so formal?” Arthur asked as he tugged on his tie.

“Well little brother,” Charles chuckled. “Women like to dress up and what better event than a school dance. Just enjoy it and have fun, I mean you and Clara are going to have so much fun.”

“I guess so. I just wish that y/n hadn’t decided to go to the dance with that idiot Jeremy.”

Charles suddenly uncomfortable at the mention of y/ns date. It’s not like he was jealous or anything but something about the boy didn’t sit right with him. Arthur noticed the change in his brother but said nothing. He knew Charles needed to figure himself out, if y/n didn’t end up hurt.

The doorbell rang and Charles excused himself. As soon as he opened the door, he felt that same feeling clawing at his insides. “Hi Charles.” Jeremy Martin a tall blond-haired boy stood in front of him suited up with a sunflower in his hand.

*Hello, who’s the flower for?”

“Y/n. She likes these.”

“Mhm, she tells you that?” Charles smirked slightly knowing that she hated sunflowers.

“Not exactly but I’ve seen her drawing them.”

“Well come in,” he ushered the young man in. “They should be down any minute.”

Charles led him through the foyer to join his brother but as he reached the stairs and looked up, he lost his breath. Clara and y/n were making their way down to them and he had never seen her look so beautiful. Her long brown hair flowed down her back in waves, just the slightest hint of makeup to enhance her features. She was wearing a long strapless black dress the hugged her in all the right places. Seeing her like this made him feel something he shouldn’t have towards his friend. She had a soft smile on her face, but he knew it wasn’t directed at him as she was looking at Jeremy.

“Wow you both look amazing.” Arthur was the first to react taking his girlfriend’s hand.

“Merci,” Clara kissed his cheek.

“Hi y/n. You look beautiful.” Jeremy smiled as he too took her hand.

“Guys, you should get going or you’re going to be late.” Pascale reminded them as she and Sylvie approached from behind the girls.

“You’re right.” Arthur nodded placing his hand on Clara’s back. “We’ll see you guys later.”

Y/n quickly kissed both her mother and Pascale on the cheeks goodbye before threading her arm through Jeremy’s outstretched arm. She smiled softly at Charles as she passed him.

He wanted to say something, anything but his mouth was dry. Pascale noticed but would wait till they were alone to say anything. “Shouldn’t you be going as well? Last I checked you had some function.”

Charles cleared his throat and looked at his mother. “Right,” he kissed her and Sylvie. “I’ll see you later.”

Few hours Later:

“You having fun?” Jeremy asked as they were dancing.”

“Yes, I am,” she smiled. She really was having a lot of fun and enjoyed his company. They had only been hanging out for a few weeks, but she really liked him. It didn’t hurt that for the most part she was able to move on from Charles, not completely but it was a start.

“Good. You know for a minute I thought you were going to say no to me.”

She lifted her head to look at him. “Why would I do that?”

“Charles Leclerc.”

“What does he have to do with anything?”

He gave her a pointed look, “Well he seems very protective over you.”

“He just looks out for me.”

“I’m sure.”

“What does that mean?” she asked getting a bit irritated.

He shrugged, “Nathan told me the only reason he didn’t ask you out again was because of Charles. I wanted to see it for myself.”

“See what exactly?” she asked moving away from him.

“How he would react.”

“So, you asked me out to see how Charles would react?” she crossed her arms.

Jeremy quickly tried to back track, “NO! I asked you out because I like you.”

She huffed, “Not what it sounds like.”

“Y/n,” he reached for her hand, but she moved further away. “I'm sorry.”

“It's fine. I'm kinda tired of dancing. I'm going to get a drink.” She forced a smile and made her way over to their table where some of her other friends were sitting.

“How’s things going with Jeremy?” Stacey Keliso, her redhaired friend asked.

“OK.”

“Just, ok?”

“Let's not talk about it.”

“Ok, now I need to know.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and sat down. “Why does everyone just want to get to know me to get close to Charles Leclerc?”

Stacey’s boyfriend Rafe Benedetti chuckled beside her. “He’s famous.”

“Wow how perceptive.” sarcasm dripped out Y/n voice. “You’d think I wasn’t aware.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Just pointing out the obvious.”

“What exactly did he say?” Stacey asked shushing her man.

“He mentioned that Charles is the reason Nathan ghosted me.”

“I’m not surprised.” Rafe replied.

“What?” Y/n asked.

“Never mind.”

She shook her head, “No no. Tell me.”

“We’ll,” he sat forward. “I’ve seen the way he gets when a guy talks to you. He can get very territorial.”

Y/n closed her eyes while pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can't wait to move.”

“Move?”

She opened her eyes in shock and turned around to see Arthur standing behind her. “Did I say that out loud?” she turned back to Stacy who nodded.

“Where are you going?” Arthur asked taking a seat next to her.

“Rafe, I wanna dance?” Stacy stood up and grabbed her boyfriend’s hand.

“I thought your feet were sore,” he remarked clueless.

“They feel better,” she dragged him to his feet and give her friend a smile.

“You weren’t meant to hear that, not yet anyway.” Y/n sadly looked at her best friend.

Arthur watched her intently. “Talk.”

She took a deep breath, “I got in.”

His eyes widen, “The Royal College of Art.” She nodded causing him to breakout into a huge grin. “Y/n,” he stood up and pulled her with him hugging her tightly. “Why wouldn't you tell me? I know how much you wanted this.”

“It means I'm leaving Monaco.”

“Only for a bit. London is not that far, and we will have holidays and visits.” he looked at her pride on his face. “This is amazing.”

“Really?”

He hugged her tighter in response. “But you have to make sure to come to any races in London and definitely home races.”

She laughed, “Wouldn’t miss them for anything.”

“Good Charles is going to flip.”

“You are too!”

“What?”

“Nothing. Would it be rude if I leave early?” she asked.

“Why? Is everything okay?”

“Yep, all good, just kind of tired and it's not as fun as I had hoped.”

“You want me to come with?”

She loved that he cared so much about her, but she knew that he was having fun, there was no way she was going to spoil it for him. “Nope, you have fun. I need to go find Jeremy.”

‘Okay, call me later,” he replied sternly.

She nodded.

A couple weeks later having graduated y/n and Arthur were taking a much-needed break before heading their separate ways for the time been. After the dance she had let everyone know about college and her move to London, everyone except Charles. He had been too busy with Formula one to make it home for graduation. But this weekend the two families were going to get together at the lake house to enjoy one last weekend together. She was excited to see him.

“Hey y/n, I need to tell you something.” Arthur helped drop off her bags.

“Sure. What's up Art?”

“Charlotte is coming.”

Y/n tried hard to not physically react even though she felt her heart sink. “Oh.” Is all she said. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the girl, but she had been hoping to spend time with him before she left. She wasn’t sure how long it would be before she saw him again.

“I only find out on the way here.”

She turned to a friend and forced a smile hoping he wouldn’t notice. “It’s all good Arthur. She’s cool.”

He looked at her, eyes narrowed. “You seem ok with it.”

She shrugged turning back to her bag. “Why wouldn’t I be? They’ve been together a while.”

“Ya but....”

She rolled her eyes before shushing him with a finger to the lip. “I'm a big girl. He’s going to have a girlfriend. I accepted that it's never going to be me.”

“Wish it was,” he mumbled as he walked out the room. Charles was an idiot, but it was his life.

“It’s going to be nice to see everyone,” Charlotte smiled looking at her boyfriend.

He nodded in agreement glancing quickly back at her before turning into the driveway of the house.

“Wow! It’s beautiful.”

“It is. I love coming here. It’s like my own private getaway. I, Art and y/n used to drag our mothers here as much as possible when we were kids.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes at the mention of the other girl making sure to hide her dislike for the girl from Charles. She was jealous of y/n. Charles was her boyfriend and she didn’t like how close he was to the other girl. But if she wanted to be with him, she knew she had to play nice.

She spotted Charles’ mother and older brother at a car as the came to a stop. Hopping out the car she quickly made her way over. “Bonjour Pascale, Lorenzo.” She gave each one a hug something Pascale noticed seem forced.

“Hi Charlotte,” Lorenzo greeted. “Nice to see you again.”

“Yes, lovely to see you.” Pascale smiled lightly at the girl. Her smile only growing once her son got to her. “Charles.”

“Hi Maman.” He kissed her cheek. He greeted his brother as well.

The sound of laughter made him turn towards the lake only for his heart to start bearing faster. Making their way towards them was Arthur and Y/n. She was wearing a white sundress that reached her knees and she had the biggest smile on her face he had ever seen. Suddenly he felt a tinge of jealousy towards his brother knowing he had made her laugh. Spotting him, y/n’s smile grew wider, and she picked up the pace.

“Mon Cherie,” he pulled her into him and spun her round causing her to burst out laughing once again making his heart leap.

“Hi.” A soft cough causes they two friends to separate. “Hi Charlotte.” y/n gave her a small smile.

“Hi.” The latter responded feeling annoyance with the younger girl. She made sure to place her hand around her boyfriend’s waist.

Y/n stepped away from him and felt Arthur next to her. “So how have you been?” she asked.

“Good, Charles and I had so much fun in Australia. It’s such a pity you guys couldn’t join us.”

Y/n choose to ignore the sarcasm in the other girl’s voice something only she seemed to pick up on. “Well, I’m glad you are here,” she replied even though she wasn’t telling the truth. It still hurt to see him with someone else.

Over the next few days, she had tried to get a minute alone with Charles, she wanted to tell him about London, but Charlotte made sure to keep him so busy that she never got a chance. Tonight, was their last night together before he had to get back to Formula 1 and she was leaving for London at the end of the week. The two families had just enjoyed a nice dinner together when Arthur decided that they needed to go out and enjoy the last night. The younger group made their way to the local bar while their mothers headed back to the house. It was here that they ran into Pierre Gasly.

“Where’s your sister?” he asked Y/n as they all enjoyed a drink.

“She and Marcus are enjoying a trip in the Maldives. His boss’s idea.”

He took a sip. “They gonna be back before you leave?”

She shrugged, “Not like it matters. She doesn’t really care much.”

“Where are you going?” Charlotte asked. Charles was currently in the men’s room, so Y/n told her making sure to inform her not to tell Charles as she was going to do it herself. The topic was soon dropped as soon as the latter reappeared. “Let's dance.” Charlotte took his hand and dragged him to the dance floor. He looked at his friends in surprise.

“Let's get a refill,” Pierre stood up. She swiftly grabbed his outstretched hand. “When are you going to tell him?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s not like I'm hiding it from him. I just haven't had the chance.”

“Well good luck.” he grimaced before pointing behind her.

Charles was making his way over to them and he looked pissed. Before she could even think he silently grabbed her hand and practically dragged her outside. When he looked at her, she felt her heart sink. She knew he could get angry; she had seen it whenever something went wrong at a race. However, he had never looked at her the way he did now.

“Were you going to tell me, or just sneak off and think I wouldn't notice?”

She should have known Charlotte would spill. “I was going to tell you. There just hasn’t been a chance.”

“A Chance? Y/n you have known for months!”

“We’ve both been busy. Not to mention I haven't seen you in a while.”

“Oh, so now it's my fault?” he snapped.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then what?” he retorted. “Everyone else seems to know, even Pierre it seems, and he has also been busy.”

“Charles,” she placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

When he looked into her eyes, she could see both pain and anger in them. “When?”

“At the end of the week.”

He nodded. “Well, I guess you won't be at the race on Sunday.”

“Charlotte will be there. You won't even miss me,”

“She’s not you,” he mumbled.

“What?” she wasn’t sure she had heard him right.”

“Forget it. Go live your wonderful life in London.”

She tried to stop him as he made to walk away but he just brushed past her back into the bar. She felt the tears sting her eyes. Why did it have to be this hard and why did it feel like she had just lost her friend?

#charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader

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